


A porch light in the dark

by frostysunflowers



Series: Irondad Bingo [8]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Light Angst, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Shy Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, To kill a mockingbird au, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is Good With Kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-07 22:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20476679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostysunflowers/pseuds/frostysunflowers
Summary: Steve looks down at Peter again. ''You say someone came to help you? Did you see who it was?''Peter starts to shake his head, and then he catches sight of something that makes him pause.''Hey, he’s over there, Mister Rogers,'' Peter says in surprise, pointing to a shadow lurking behind the bedroom door. ''He can tell you his name.''





	A porch light in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> For the Tv/movie au square for Irondad bingooo
> 
> I had something totally different planned for this prompt and then this idea happened and I wrote it all fairly quickly and here we are. If you know the story of To Kill a Mockingbird, there's lots to recognise here, and it's a straight mash up between the book and the movie, though I have made a few changes. If you don't know the story, I suggest you read it/read about it first, as it's wonderful and I love it so hard <3
> 
> I've left ages, time period, locations etc as vague as I can so a lot of it is up to your own interpretation. 
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> Warning for non-graphic mentions of violence.

Somewhere in a place that could easily be born from words tucked between pages, there’s a house in a sleepy little street with all the lights switched on. Peter Parker stands in the kitchen and trembles as he listens to Ben on the phone in the hall.

''Steve? It’s Ben. Someone’s been after my kids. Harley’s – no, no, just badly hurt, the doc’s on his way. Can you – yeah, yeah, okay, I’ll see you soon.''

Peter chews his lip to keep the tears at bay as Ben crouches down in front of him. ''Kiddo, you sure you’re not hurt?''

''Is Harley dead?''

Ben jolts as though the question physically hurts, but his words are still even and gentle, reassuring like always. ''No, bud, but he’s pretty banged up.'' A hand reaches up to tentatively brush against the bump on Peter’s forehead. ''You sure you don’t want ice for that?''

''It’s fine,'' Peter mumbles and shuffles after him as they go to wait in Harley’s room. The sight of his older brother lying on the bed, pale and with his arm bent at an awful angle makes Peter’s stomach violently churn. He reaches out to hold the hand of Harley’s good arm, fingers rubbing soft circles into the grazed palm

All they’d been doing was walking home from the school play; Peter in his gigantic robot costume and Harley just in his jeans and hoodie. The attack had come from nowhere, sending Peter sprawling uselessly into the ground and making Harley yell in surprise. The moments after that were a terrifying whirlwind of Harley’s desperate pleas for Peter to run, the sound of feet on the ground and then a horrifying crunching sound followed by Harley’s scream. Then, as Peter had managed to right himself, strong arms had curled around him, costume and all, and squeezed him so viciously that all the air had left his lungs.

He’d kicked as much as he could but there was no escaping the grip, nor ignoring the furious snarling in his ear or the sickly scent of alcohol on the breath of the person holding him, and all he could do was think about Ben; Ben, his wonderful, brave father who would be so heartbroken when he found both his kids had been –

And then the squeezing sensation stopped and the arms were gone, sending Peter back onto the ground where he lay frozen as a series of scuffling noises nearby led to a pained grunt, a thud and then complete silence.

Peter somehow managed to get his costume off, leaving him in nothing but a thin shirt and a ratty pair of sweatpants, and watched as a shadowy figure crossed the street and headed towards his house with the limp form of his brother in their arms. By the time Peter made it down the path, Harley was somewhere inside and Ben was rushing out onto to the porch to meet Peter as he ran up the steps.

And now, as he looks at Harley’s bruised face, pinched with fear even in sleep, Peter feels the full terror of what just happened hit him. He stays by his brother’s side as Doctor Banner examines him, the fear only retracting slightly when the man gives him a comforting smile and tells him that aside from a badly broken arm, Harley is otherwise fine.

Shortly after Doctor Banner leaves to collect the necessary supplies to set Harley’s broken arm, Police Chief Steve Rogers walks into the house. In his hand is the battered and very crumpled remains of Peter’s costume.

''I take it this belongs to you?'' he asks Peter as he sets the costume down by the door. Peter swallows as he notices a large gash right across the middle of it. 

''Yes, sir.''

''Found that down the street, under the big oak tree just on the corner.''

The way he says the words has Ben’s face pulling into a sharp frown.

''The oak tree? What was it doing there?''

Steve glances at Ben before his eyes shift to Harley’s unconscious form. Peter watches as a look of pure rage passes over his young features, making him look so far from the calm, collected man that Peter knows him to be.

''Look, Steve,'' Ben sighs tiredly, ''just tell me straight.''

Steve regards him carefully for a moment before he speaks. ''Skip Westcott is laying under that oak tree with a kitchen knife stuck up under his ribs.''

Ben blinks, a million thoughts passing across his face, before he clears his throat.

''Is he – ''

''Yeah,'' Steve replies shortly.

The air momentarily vanishes from the room, leaving Peter only able to suck in a short gasp of it as he stumbles to where Ben is standing, tucking himself into the man’s side.

Steve looks down at him. 

''Pete, you think you could tell us what happened?''

''I’m not sure,'' Peter frowns, fingers playing nervously with the hem of Ben’s shirt. ''We thought it was Flash Thompson trying to mess with us ‘cause we heard a bunch of weird noises for about five minutes as we were walking.''

''Did you take that shortcut through the woods?''

''Yes, sir.''

Steve nods, removing his hat and holding it in one hand. ''Did you see Skip at all?''

Peter shakes his head, though a shiver runs up his back at the thought of the man. Filled with bitter anger for Ben’s campaign to get James Barnes, a man held to account for a brutal series of crimes without the slightest bit of evidence, out of prison had not sat well with Skip Westcott. Peter had heard Ben talking late into the night with Miss Carter from next door about the man and how he was nothing but venom and danger and spite all mixed up into one godawful excuse for a human being.

And now he's dead; dead after trying to deal the same fate to Harley and Peter.

''So you didn’t see him…did you see anything?''

Peter relays the full story to the two men, managing somehow to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. Steve nods along, eyes never leaving Peter’s face until he finishes.

''This,'' Steve kicks the crushed robot costume gently, ''must have saved your life, Peter.''

The arm Ben has around Peter tightens almost painfully.

''Are you sure that was his intention?''

''Mister Parker, I’ve been doing this job a fair few years now. I think I know an attempted murder when I see one.''

''I thought he’d come after me if he was gonna try anything,'' Ben murmurs, running a hand through his hair. ''I never imagined for one second this would happen. He must have been out of his mind.''

''Don’t make up excuses for men like him, Mister Parker,'' Steve says sharply. ''Nothing crazed about him. This was deliberate and planned.''

Steve looks down at Peter again. ''You say someone came to help you? Did you see who it was?''

Peter starts to shake his head, and then he catches sight of something that makes him pause.

''Hey, he’s over there, Mister Rogers,'' Peter says in surprise, pointing to a shadow lurking behind the bedroom door. ''He can tell you his name.''

Steve steps over and pulls the door away from the wall, sending the man behind it stumbling back into the wall, eyes wide with terror like a wild animal.

Peter stares, just as Ben and Steve do. The man is pale with dark hair that falls forward in a messy tussle, and there’s a scruffy goatee covering the lower half of his drawn face. There’s a palpable nervousness about him, but also an underlying feel of something stronger, like he’s brave but doesn’t realise it.

And his eyes, dark and as wide as saucers and looking at Peter with such adoring familiarity…

Something rushes through Peter, fierce and sharp as lightning.

Peter knows these eyes somehow; he knows this face.

A smile full of wonder and delight, full of the realisation of magic and heroes and knowing that something good is happening, lights up Peter’s face as he realises just who he’s looking at.

The man continues to stare back at him, his gaze heavy with shy affection, the ghost of an awkward smile on his lips.

A wonderful warmth comes to life in Peter’s chest. ''Hey, Tony,'' he says softly.

The man – Tony – blinks and it’s as good as any words he could have possibly said in response.

''Mister Stark, son,'' Ben reminds Peter gently, patting him on the shoulder. ''I believe he already knows you.''

The delight Peter feels is indescribable. All this time of wondering and dreaming up stories of just who Tony was; all those long summer days where him and Harley would stare at the Stark house and wish for just one glimpse of the man that had long since been condemned as dangerous and insane by nearly all those who had a mind to talk about him; all those whispered questions that Peter would speak out into the darkness as he clutched whatever latest gift Tony had left for them in the knot of the oak tree, wishing with all his heart that he could just see the man once.

His wish had come true.

He thinks of the box underneath his bed full of all the treasures he and Harley had collected from the tree. A wrench, a tattered copy of a book on mechanics with print so faded they could barely read it, a small stuffed spider with red and blue markings, a polaroid of what looked like a gigantic robotic arm and a round silver disk with a circle of blue glass in the middle which had a few cracks running through it. Peter still can’t quite work out what it is, but he knows it’s special.

The moment of wonder breaks as Doctor Banner bustles back in, carrying a large bag, and orders them out of the room so he can work in peace. To Peter’s shock, he greets Tony with a casual familiarity as he walks round to Harley’s bedside. ''Hey, Anthony, didn’t see you standing there earlier.''

It stands to reason, Peter thinks, because even someone like Tony Stark probably needs a doctor every now and then.

Ben watches Doctor Banner unpack his bag for a moment before he glances over at Tony. ''Why don’t we go sit on the porch for a bit? I could use a bit of air.''

Ben and Steve move out of the door, but Peter lingers to wait for Tony. The man steps away from the wall hesitantly, fingers and thumbs clicking nervously together.

Peter doesn’t hesitate to hold out a hand. ''C’mon, Mister Stark. I’ll show you the way.''

Tony looks down at him for a moment and then nods before grasping Peter’s sleeve. Peter can barely keep the dumbstruck grin off his face as they head towards the front door and out into the sticky night air.

''Come sit here, Mister Stark,'' Peter says, leading them over to the swing at the edge of the porch, ''it’s nice and comfortable.''

They slide onto the bench and Tony’s foot on the deck immediately pushes into a gentle swaying motion. Peter tucks his legs up, leaning back so he can get a full view of the man. Somehow, it makes sense to see him, sitting there on the porch with the dim glow of the lights above shining down on him, highlighting the streaks of lighter brown in his dark hair.

Peter finds himself struck by just how _young _Tony looks. For what feels like all his life, he’s been hearing stories, so it seems strange for the enchanting and slightly scary spectre of those stories to be someone with so many more years of his own life to go.

Years that will no doubt be spent in the same solitude that they already have been for so long. Peter knows that the mystery of Tony Stark and why he hides away like he does, why the stories about him are so wildly different from what Peter somehow always knew to be the truth, is one that will never be solved.

But having him here, close by and so very, very real, is all that Peter needs.

''I’m really glad to see you, Mister Stark,'' he says quietly before really thinking about it.

Tony starts before looking at him, those big eyes searching every inch of Peter’s face. Then he smiles, still small but a bit wider than before, and Peter can’t help the whispering laugh that rushes out of him, feeling for all the world like he’s been wrapped up in the biggest kind of blanket.

They sit together, swinging back and forth gently, looking out into the left-strewn glimpses of path beneath the streetlights, before the rising voices of Ben and Steve reach their ears.

''I can’t…I mean he’ll have to be tried as an adult, right?'' Ben rambles, stuffing his hands into his pockets only to remove them again. ''It’s a clear case of self-defence but nonetheless – ''

''Mister Parker,'' Steve says slowly, ''are you saying you think Harley killed Skip Westcott? Is that what you think?'' He shakes his head. ''Your boy didn't kill anybody.''

Peter frowns as the two men stare at one another, some unspoken understanding passing between their heated gazes, before they both turn to look over at where Peter and Tony are sitting. Peter blinks, fingertips prickling and breath catching in his throat as he realises exactly what happened under that oak tree. He turns to look at Tony again.

The man doesn’t quite react to Peter’s stare except to look down at the hands resting in his lap. He thumbs a jagged scar across the knuckles of his right hand. It looks old, like it’s been there forever, and Peter wonders where it came from.

The black and white reality of the matter is that he’s sat next to a murderer. That’s what killing someone makes you, after all.

But Tony Stark isn’t a murderer.

There isn’t a gleam of darkness in him, Peter knows, and it’s only taken him two minutes in the man’s company and a lifetime of dreaming about him to know this. The stories are wrong, not that Peter ever believed them anyway.

Tony Stark, the man who never left his house and seemingly never spoke to a soul; the man who left them presents in a hole in the tree and probably watched them playing out in the streets from his odd little sanctuary; the man who had clearly suffered some horrors in his young life but didn’t let that stop him from coming to the aid of two kids he only knew by sight was not and never would be a murderer.

To Peter, he’s nothing but a hero.

A desperation for this fact to be known flares up within him and he almost shouts it down to where Steve and Ben are still talking, but the words of the police chief silence him.

''Skip Westcott fell on his knife,'' Steve’s voice is firm and unyielding, eyes flashing as he frowns out onto the street. ''He killed himself.'' He turns to look at Ben. ''James Barnes, a man we all knew to be innocent, is dead already and now the man responsible for that is dead too.''

''Steve – ''

''Let the dead bury the dead this time, Mister Parker,'' Steve says, moving to follow Ben as he steps across the porch. ''Maybe you’ll tell me I’m wrong to not punish a man for doing what I consider a service to the community, to protect an innocent from an unimaginable crime, hm? Perhaps you’ll tell me it’s wrong to not say a word so that the entire town doesn’t descend upon his door with baked goods and invitations to whatever party they’re throwing that week, but I’ll tell you something, Mister Parker,'' Steve squares his shoulders, ''I’ll be damned if I’ll be the one responsible for forcing any of that on a man like him.''

They both look towards the porch swing again, still moving back and forth, and study the man sitting beside Peter. Peter continues to stare at them, letting their words wash over him, before looking at Tony. The man says nothing, hands tapping a soft rhythm against his thighs.

''To drag a man like him out into the limelight would be a sin, Mister Parker,'' Steve levels a fierce look at Ben, ''and I sure as hell don’t want that on my head.''

''I get it, Steve,'' Ben sighs, folding his arms, ''trust me, I do.''

''I may not be much, Mister Parker, but I’m still Chief of Police in this town,'' Steve heads down the stairs, looking over his shoulder as he goes, ''and Skip Westcott fell on his knife.''

He tips his hat before clambering into his car. Ben watches him drive away before his shoulders drop, like some kind of gigantic weight has been lifted from them. He scrubs a hand over his face and makes a sound that causes Peter’s heart to bang into his ribs. With a quick glance at Tony, who merely blinks his understanding, Peter slides off the bench and comes to stand by Ben’s side. The man looks down at him, a lightness coming to his eyes though the seriousness of his expression remains. He sets both hands on Peter’s shoulders and crouches slightly so that their faces are closer.

''What you thinking, kiddo?''

''Chief Rogers was right,'' Peter says, looking up at Ben.

''What do you mean?''

''Well…'' Peter quirks his mouth in thought. ''It would sorta be like…stepping on a spider, wouldn’t it?''

Ben regards him for a moment before a sheen of tears covers his eyes, accompanied by the softest of smiles, and he pulls Peter in for a hug. With his head resting on his father’s shoulder, Peter watches as Tony slowly rises from the swing and moves to stand by Harley’s bedroom window, peeking into the inviting light within. Ben looks over too, releases Peter with a soft pat to his back, and walks across the porch.

Tony straightens up as Ben approaches him. Peter’s heart aches for him as even now, after all the goodness that he’s gifted them in the form of one simple act, he still looks as though he’s waiting for something bad to happen, like that’s all he ever expects to happen.

He flinches only a little as Ben extends a hand before slowly lifting his own to meet it, pale fingers wrapping around Ben’s tanned skin.

''Thank you, Anthony,'' Ben murmurs, warm and earnest in the way Peter loves him dearly for, ''thank you for my children.''

Tony nods just once, lips twitching in the mildest flicker of a smile, before Ben releases his hand and steps back into the house.

''Do you wanna come say goodnight to Harley, Mister Stark?'' Peter asks, holding his hand out again.

Tony doesn’t hesitate this time to hook their fingers together and Peter leads him back through the house to stand in Harley’s bedroom. Doctor Banner is long gone and Harley's arm is wrapped tight in a cast, resting on a pillow. Peter tightens his fingers encouragingly as Tony stands by Harley’s bed, regarding the sleeping boy with such a tender look it makes Peter feel like he’s about to shoot out of his shoes with some giddy sense of happiness.

''He won’t mind if you pet his hair, you know,'' Peter says, giving their hands a little shake, ''Ben does it all the time. Harley pretends he doesn’t like it but I know he does.''

Tony’s free hand lifts to hover over Harley’s messy hair.

''Go ahead, Mister Stark, it’s okay.''

The hand, lined with scars and old shiny burn marks, comes down to trail through Harley’s hair just once, softly and with the greatest of care, like he can’t believe a moment such as this is really happening.

Peter knows how he feels.

Peter’s knees buckle in the next second as for the very first time, he hears the man speak.

''Peter…'' Tony’s voice is soft and raspy and yet somehow warm as the summer air. ''Will you take me home?''

They take their time walking down the street towards Tony’s house. With his arm tucked up into the crook of Tony’s elbow, Peter feels as safe as he does whenever he walks in the dark with Ben. They reach the front gate and Tony eases it open, guiding them up to the tatty porch of his home.

Peter lets go, lingering on the steps, a rising sadness within him making him want to ask the man to stay, to not go away into hiding again, not when they’ve finally met one another.

Like he knows what Peter’s thinking, Tony turns back to look at him, one hand resting on the now open front door.

''I can…come back?''

Peter isn’t sure what the question means, if Tony’s asking if he’s allowed to come back or if Peter wants him to come back.

Either way, it’s a yes.

''Ben?'' Peter says later on as he curls up on a chair with his father, head buried against the man’s chest and eyes on the steady rise and fall of Harley’s chest.

''Yes, Peter?''

''He was real nice.''

''Most people are, Pete,'' Ben whispers, hugging him tight, ''when you finally see them.''

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not gonna lie, I wrote this purely for myself because it's my favourite book and the image of Tony as Boo Radley is one that will forever stick in my mind. I cried buckets just thinking about it, as did blondsak I'm sure who I screeched about this with for like a whole evening - basically she made me do it!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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